Tale of the Slave Queen
by Princep
Summary: The life story of St. Alessia, leader of the First Era slave rebellion against the tyrannical Ayleids, is told from birth to death. Follow mankind's triumph in one of the most brutal conflicts in Tamrielic history. Rated M for intense violence, language, sex and/or sexuality, and other graphic stuff. Please review!
1. Prelude & Chapter 1: Birth of a Saint

**DISCLAIMER:** _I own nothing but my own original characters! The entire Elder Scrolls universe and all official aspects associated with it belong to Bethesda and their respectful owners! This is being written purely for entertainment purposes! That being said, please enjoy my story and leave reviews! Really, leave reviews! I love them - comments, constructive criticism, and anything in between is welcomed! Thank you, and I hope you enjoy this fanfic! :)_

* * *

><p><span><strong>Prelude<strong>

The Ayleids – Mereth's Heartland High Elves – had forged an empire over the chartered lands of Topal the Pilot. Their realm was a collection of small, semi-independent kingdoms…all of which owed complete loyalty to the Tower of White Gold. They were a mighty and virtually unbreakable civilization with a passionate love for the Elven gods of Aldmeris. However, like all mortal beings of Nirn, they were corruptible. The great Ayleid kings thirsted for power that their deities simply refused to give.

And so they turned to the Princes of Oblivion.

One by one, the city-states of the Heartland Mer fell to Daedric worship in a quest for ultimate supremacy over Men. They took command of demonic hordes and forced the Nedic emigrants of Atmora into bondage. The Ayleid Empire was growing, and the Elven rulers of Cyrod were slowly losing touch with their moral purpose. Daedric influence in the mortal plane was on the rise, and nature itself was being flipped upside down. Action had to be taken…else Nirn would be tarnished and destroyed.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Chapter 1: The Birth of a Saint<strong>

**Sard**

**1E 197**

**Ayleidic Cyrod**

The gleaming walls of Sard were stained crimson with the blood of Man. It was the convergence – the terminus in which the Ayleids drove their Nedic pets from every black shadow of the heartlands. The city's chambers reeked of carnage and deafened the ears with echoes of agonizing screams. Men and women were forced by the thousands into the subterranean slave pits by their elven masters. The Nedes did not know humanity; they were stripped of their identities in both name and kinship. Infants were ripped away from their mothers' arms at birth. "Brotherhood" and "sisterhood" were outlawed concepts that were punishable by death. Family ties were severed, and the humans of Cyrod were devolved into statuses of cattle.

For Men were, according to the doctrine of White Gold, savages in every aspect. They were the filth of the mortal plane; they were the uncivilized invaders of Mereth – the plague of elvenkind! The Atmoran barbarians were to be tamed, else be exterminated from the face of the earth.

A storm of rain and lightning had rushed over Lake Rumare on that prophetic day. Thunder cracked the skies as the water plummeted to the earth. It was midday, and yet the sunlight had been conquered by the grayness of the oversaturated clouds.

A new shipment of Nedic captives was brought forth to the domains of Sard. They were members of the so-called "Nordic" alliance in the northlands. Ayleid troops under the backing of a Piukandan-led coalition had pushed further into the Jeralls just months prior. Their raids resulted in a fresh supply of Human prisoners, most of whom were sold to heartland slavers and marched to Sard for auctioning. Amongst these unfortunate souls was a beautiful blue-eyed tribeswoman – the wife of a slain warrior chief – whose pregnancy had nearly reached its full cycle. The fair lass's name would be lost to the folds of history, but her legacy would live on forever; for in her womb rested the first saint of mankind.

The journey to Sard had been long and excruciating. The tribeswoman was shackled alongside her enslaved comrades and prodded from the northern tundra to the southern Nibenese jungles on the Rumare. The Ayleids' daedric servants took amusement in the abuse of the captives. With her pregnancy becoming more evident with every passing day, the Dremora slave drivers took a particular liking to inflicting pain upon the tribeswoman. Her days on the march consisted of constant taunting and sporadic lashings. All the while, she cried to Shor for blessings of mercy. With the strength of a lioness, the tribeswoman held her head high with a staunch refusal to submit to her sadistic masters. After several impressive displays of her endurance, orders were issued by the Ayleid captains for the woman to be left unharmed.

After what seemed an eternity, they'd finally reached Sard. The tribeswoman was already feeling the pains of her eminent labor. The rain was chilling her to the bone, and her abdomen throbbed as her line was driven through the archway of the city's enchanted gates. Ayleid architecture was a true sight to behold. Even the tribeswoman, whom despised the Heartland High Elves with every fiber of her being, silently admitted an admiration for the craftsmanship of the Merethic slavers. But the beauty of the land's surface only masked the darkness that laid within the depths of Sard.

The slaves were forced into the cold chambers of stone by the daedra. The tribeswoman's bare feet were growing numb from the freezing temperatures of the floors. The halls were illuminated by the blueness of welkynd light – a favored energy source of the Ayleid witch lords. She heard the crack of a whip at the rear of her line as the gates closed behind them. The tribeswoman would never see the outside world again.

The demons forced their Nedic toys into the pens at the nadirs of the tunnels. Thousands of men and women were stuffed into tiny enclosures like chickens, wailing and pleading for the mercy of their masters. The tribeswoman fell to her knees in the mud, her hands clasping her groin in horrific agony. Tears flooded her eyes as she let out a howl of pain and fell to the ground.

"She is in labor!" cried a nearby slave elder.

And the Nedes surrounded the tribeswoman to protect her from the abuse of the Ayleids and their daedric servants. The tides of history were about to be turned.

After a valiant wrestle with the natural process of birth, the infant's shrieks graced the air. A young Nordic maiden gently placed the crying newborn into the tribeswoman's arms. "It is a girl!"

The baby girl, blessed with the striking blue eyes of her mother, gazed into the tribeswoman's pupils. Some would swear that they saw the infant smile. The tribeswoman kissed the tiny child on the forehead. "My sweetheart." she whispered with a tiresome (yet adoring) grin. "My beautiful sweetheart."

"MOVE!" boomed the voice of a Dremora overseer. "SEPARATE, YOU RATS!" A Dremora Markynaz, armed with a serpentine whip and escorted by two scamps, pressed into the crowd of slaves and shoved them aside without compassion. The Nedes fell silent as the demons' shadow fell over the tribeswoman.

"No!" hissed the mother, defensively grasping her baby with what power she had left. She clumsily slid backwards in her puddles of labor-induced blood as the daedra came closer. "No! You will leave my daughter alone!"

"HA!" the demon thundered…for Dremora do not feel empathy. He took hold of the infant's little torso and tore the baby from its mother's arms.

"Shor!" the tribeswoman pleaded, shouting to the heavens above. "Shor, Lord of Men, bless my child! Liberate her from bondage, and she will lead mankind to victory!"

The Dremora turned to the woman again with blazing eyes. "She prays to the Unspeakable!" he jeered. "She defies the doctrine of the Masters! SLAY HER! SLAY HER WHERE SHE STANDS!"

The infant girl watched with heart-wrenching tears as the scamps descended upon her mother. "Deliver us, my daughter!" the tribeswoman wailed as she her flesh was shredded open. "Deliver us!" Her throat was ripped away by the claws of the scamps…and the Dremora carried the baby through the sea of enslaved Nedes.

The girl was presented to an Ayleid captain on the balconies overlooking the pens. The officer was clad in finely crafted Elven armor that enhanced the beauty of his golden skin. He scowled as the Dremora bowed and offered up the crying babe. "_What is this?_" he inquired in Ayleidoon. "_Yet another slave child?_"

"Born to the blue-eyed Jerall woman, sire." the daedra replied.

The Elven soldier nodded. "_All infants born within the domain art the property of the King._" he firmly stated. "_Present her to His Majesty with haste!_"

The Dremora obeyed. Little did they know that a future saint had been born…


	2. Chapter 2: The Moth King

**AUTHOR'S**** NOTE: **_Happy New Year, everybody! Thank you for reading!_

* * *

><p><span><strong>Chapter 2: The Moth King<strong>

**Sard**

**1E 202**

**Ayleidic Cyrod**

Cancava, the so-called "Moth King," had ruled over the realm of Sard for generations. King Cancava was a peculiarly confident introvert. Despite his deeply-sewn narcissistic personality disorder, Sard's feudal monarch spent the majority of his time in isolation. Few aside from his own personal slave collection were permitted access to the ruler's demented presence. Cancava was a handsome Ayleid of unknown age. His bloodline had occupied the city's throne since its foundation. The Moth King had sharp features and a skin pigment of dark gold that contrasted with his rapidly graying hair. Interestingly enough, his eyes were black as the night sky; some claimed this was the result of a contract he forged with the Daedric Prince Molag Bal. Others believed that he was born without eyes entirely, and that he had two jet gemstones installed in his hollow eye-sockets to intimidate his subjects. In any case, Cancava's eerily blank gaze chilled all mortal men and women to the bone.

The King of Sard wore silken robes of white and blue that were kept obsessively clean at all times. His clothing was dramatic in its design, with long trains that dragged nearly forty feet behind him; he often required several servants to follow him and ensure the fabric didn't get tangled or hinged on corners and furniture. His silvery hair and goatee matched his robes in a borderline-theatrical length. His hair was separated into hundreds of small braids that were collectively tied into a long, elegant tail that flowed over the surface of his robe's train. Cancava's hands were adorned with Elven jewelry that complemented his golden crown of rubies and sapphires. Set over his thickened braids, the crown gave the Moth King the air of a great lion. It was an uncommon style, but one that clearly demonstrated the man's high-ranking status.

As a rule, all Nedic slaves born within the borders of Sard became official property of the king. By chance, the blue-eyed infant girl fell victim to said circumstances. As she grew, King Cancava had taken to calling her "Abalatta," literally "Forbidden Light," for "the earth will never be worthy of her beauty." But more often than not, she was addressed as "Aba" for short. The girl was beloved by her totalitarian master. The King of Sard doted on the developing toddler, but she nonetheless remained bound by the chains of enslavement.

"My Lord," the young Abalatta would ask the King with her blue eyes opened wide in curiosity. "Why do they call you 'Moth King?'"

Cancava always replied with the exact same answer – spoken with an acute Ayleidoon tongue. "_F'r I am the scourge of twist'd nature. I am the tamer of the savage, and the devourer of the weak. I am the moth – lov'r of light and the virtues of mine forefathers. I am the beshrew of thy people, mine Aba…and I am eternal as the infinite skies of night._"

It was a cryptic and seemingly meaningless response…but one that little Aba would be forced to accept. She was kept carefully ignorant of Cancava's crimes against Man. The king's personal compound was sealed off from Sard's complex underground caverns. As a result, Abalatta hadn't set eyes on those filthy pens – collectively known as the "Buroseli" – since she first emerge from her mother's womb. Yes, the girl was well aware of her people's enslavement; however, she was naïve to the sadistic cruelty associated with it. Cancava's convincing adoration molded Aba's reality into a fantasy world. She was treated more like a princess than the slave child she truly was. Her interactions with fellow Nedes were limited, and those permitted to speak with her were threatened severe punishment if they dared reveal the truth of Cancava's tyranny.

The Moth King's fortress, a murky palace of shadows, was linked to Sard by a secured tunnel network called the "Nexus." At the heart of the Nexus was the Silasel – a commercial intersection of stone caverns that provided access to each of Sard's districts. The Silasel housed the city's Great Welkynd Stone; it was the arcane power source of the kingdom's enchantments. Without it, Sard's magical security webs would fail, and the Moth King's soldiers would lose control of their daedric minions. Therefore, the Nexus was one of the most heavily patrolled compounds in the entire city.

At the surface, Cancava's palace was an attractive piece of Ayleid architecture, but not as fantastical as one would expect. Its main entrance, gated by iron, was heavily guarded by the king's elite military garrisons. They functioned more as personal guards of the monarch, as Sard only served the Ayleidic Empire as an economic power of trade. The city and palace were not designed to withstand siege; instead, they were designed for the organized bustle of goods and Nedic prisoners (both of which Sard had plenty). The interior of the royal citadel was a far more gloomy and sinister sight to behold. The stone chambers were poorly lit by the blue light of welkynd energies; some were not even lit at all, and required spells to see in the black darkness. Most of the halls were undecorated, save for various blood stains smeared over the walls. It was a cold and empty structure that looked more like crumbling ruins than the luxurious dwelling of an Ayleid king. The small population of nobility, most of whom were distant relatives of the Moth King, resided in the palace's north wing. They rarely strayed from their exquisite housings, where incestuous orgies were held on a daily basis.

Abalatta's quarters were constructed into the palace's east wing – purposely secluded from the grimy lodgings of Cancava's other captives. The east wing was, more or less, the receptive extension of the Moth King's fortress. It was home to the grand dining hall, ball room, and libraries of Sard. Aba's presence in the bastion's considerably more "attractive" wing aroused controversy amongst the city's nobility…but their qualms could usually be silenced by Cancava's gifts of gold and gemstones. Abalatta was well-accustomed to the luxury showered upon her by her master; she'd grown familiarized with silk, rubies, Merethic circlets, rings, and regal meals. But she was nonetheless a slave, and rarely permitted to leave the seclusion of her quarters without the escort of the Moth King. She dined separately from the Ayleid aristocrats and knew only a few friends beyond the King of Sard himself.

On this day, Abalatta was dressed in an exquisite, colorful gown made from imported fabrics of the Niben. Her wardrobe was fit for royalty…not for the slave which she truly was. Her soft, five year old facial features were encased in Elven makeup that was forged out of berry juice and welkynd chemicals. To the Ayleids, this was beauty – falsified, twisted beauty. But what a sight to behold: a Nedic slave treated as an Ayleid royal! With parchment and pen at hand, Aba was sketching a drawing of an Elven sword.

Cancava, coated in vibrant robes, sat upon a stone chair beside Aba's bed in fascination with the girl's every move. His black eyes gazed upon her in total love. "_What art thou drawing, mine sweet child?_" he asked in cultured Ayleidoon with a grin. His voice was so high-pitched and ladylike, but it carried a certain power unlike anything Abalatta had ever heard before. It was a symbol of home, and it warmed her heart.

"A sword, Your Majesty!" the girl replied with enthusiasm.

"_A magnificent bodkin!_" the Moth King joyously exclaimed, clapping his hands. "_What an incredible artist thou hast become! Thy works shall be known across Cyrod!_"

"Majesty," Abalatta interrupted, looking towards her master from her sketch. "Does your reign stretch over all of the Heartlands?"

Cancava let out a lighthearted chuckle. "_Nay, nay, mine Aba._" he replied. "_Mine reign only stretches to the edges of this city. I am the King of Sard – nothing more, and nothing less._"

The girl lithely climbed onto the Moth King's lap. "Are there other Ayleid kingdoms, Sire?"

Sard's monarch ran his taloned fingers through Abalatta's brunette hair. "_Ay, thither art many: Anga, Fanacas, Tor, Nenalata, Sercen, Lindai, and many, many more! All art city-states with their own form of independence, but with ultimate loyalty to the masters of White Gold._"

"But Sard is surely the greatest of the Ayleidic city-states?"

"_Of course._" Cancava whispered. "_Of course. F'r it houses mine Aba!_"

The pair shared a chaste kiss before Abalatta asked, "May we visit the kitchens for berries?"

"_Ay, mine love!_" the king shouted, standing to his feet with the little child in his arms. "_Come! We shall journey through the grand dining hall!_"

The Moth King's fixation with the blue-eyed girl was loathed by nearly all. While the majority of Cancava's captives (including women and children) were forced into backbreaking labor, Abalatta was spared the mere lifting of a finger. It pained the Human prisoners to look upon Aba's luxury. Some even thought to slay her, but they did not venture to act on these notions. The Moth King's wrath would have been apocalyptic.

But there was one child of Man who harbored love for the blue-eyed Aba. He was five years her senior – a boy called "Gravia," the "Ugly." He was a physically deformed youth with a severe case of kyphosis and facial warts. For his appearance, Gravia suffered a major brunt of Cancava's vicious abuse. The slave boy was forbidden from bathing, and his mangled black hair was greased over with filth as a result. He wore little more than tattered rags and bore disturbing whip scars on his painfully hunched back. Despite these mistreatments, the small-statured Gravia continued to prove himself as a worker. Every task he was assigned by the king's Ayleid troops was completed and completed well. This kept Cancava from having the "warped troll child" slain.

Gravia was not a brave soul. He cowered at the very presence of his Elven overseers and shrieked at the crack of the whip. But he would bend time itself for the sake of Abalatta, who never failed to light his only sparks of courage. Although prohibited from doing so, Gravia visited little Aba on a nightly basis. He did so by navigating the narrow hollows that were hidden throughout the city's constructions. They were not man-made grottos; the caverns were likely dug out by rats and trolls in hibernation. Accessible only through the damaged portions of the walls in the Buroseli, the daedra and Ayleid guards alike had no clue of their existence. As a result, Gravia had never yet been caught, and he guarded his secretive entrée to Aba's quarters with his life.

The distorted slave child embraced a unique form of obsession with the blue-eyed girl. Already, he envisioned romancing the toddler and seducing her into intercourse. For the time being, these fantasies were relatively innocent, but they had the potential to evolve into something far more…sinister. Perhaps these dreams were linked to the abuse he suffered at the hands of the Moth King. None could be fully certain, but Gravia did possess a genuine love for little Abalatta that was beyond mere physical attraction. She was essentially his only friend, and he cherished her acceptance despite his deformities.

For Cancava's personal slaves, the days were long and grueling. From sunrise to sundown, they labored in his chambers and courtyard vineyards. A single step out of line resulted in terrifyingly "creative" punishments by the Moth King and his overseers. On this specific day, Gravia found himself straining with five female Nedes in the king's dining halls. As with most of the palace's interior, the room was dimly lit by welkynd stones and arcane light. Statues of the Aedra and Daedra alike lined the walls. It created a conflict of energy that could be felt by all.

The hunchbacked boy sweated streams as he scrubbed the stone floors beneath the tables on his hands and knees. The soap was wearing at the skin of his hands, which was splitting under the pressure of the chainmail scrubbers. He took a deep breath and wiped the little droplets of blood on his rags.

He and the five unkempt women were under the watch of Dremora overseer. The daedra picked at his jagged teeth with the tip of a dagger as he oversaw the cleaning. "WORK, HOBBLER!" he scolded, kicking Gravia in the back of his thigh with the sharpness of his boot.

"Yes, sir!" the child meekly cried as he continued scrubbing.

"Trying to earn yourself another night in the Moth King's toy room?" one of the female slaves, an old white-haired hag, hissed towards Gravia under her breath. "Stop taking breaks, Gravia! We're almost finished!"

The boy nodded. "I understand." he whimpered. "I'm sorry."

"KEEP WORKING!" the daedra reprimanded again, lashing his whip upon the floor between the slaves.

The clinking of the Ayleid trinkets Cancava wore around his neck and wrists served as an alarm of his approach. The Moth King entered the dining hall with Abalatta still held affectionately in his arms. He was followed closely by four scamps that carried and guided the train of his robes. Alongside the scamps was three elite Ayleid guards. The soldiers were trained to show little emotion. Their eyes stared forward, and their focus could not be broken. Their Elven boots marched beside the King of Sard with regal pride.

"Majesty?" the girl asked Cancava, placing her hand on his pronounce cheek as they moved across the chamber.

The Moth King turned his pitch black eyes to face her. "_Ay, mine sweet child?_"

"Why are you unwed?" she inquired.

Cancava's smile faded, and he shifted his gaze elsewhere. "_I am w'd to Sard, mine angel. Certes, ye are acknown of this. I will nev'r love a woman as I love mine kingdom._"

"But why, Majesty?"

The King of Sard shook his head, but didn't express a tone of disappointment. "_Wilt thou ask so many questions? Not all can be answer'd, mine sweet child! But I adore thy curiosity with all of mine heart!_"

The slaves did not dare look upon the king with their "inferior" eyes. They continued about their work as if he wasn't there. It was well-known to the Men that Cancava was repulsed by the eyes of Nedes – except, of course, Abalatta's. But little Aba was not bound by her master's norms, and she did not fully understand them. The girl recognized the hunched back of her dearest friend, Gravia, and it ignited a smile that quickly spread across her face. "Gravia!" she exclaimed in joy.

Gravia could not resist the summons of his darling love. Without an ounce of hesitation, he turned his head and greeted, "Hello, Lady Abalatta!"

The Moth King was enraged. "_Seize that maggot!_" he ordered his men in a roar. Cancava's feminine tenor was corrupted by wrath. With a finger uplifted, he condemned Gravia to punishment. Abalatta was nearly driven to tears just by witnessing her master's anger. "_How dare he yea gaze upon the face of mine Aba!?_"

"No!" the boy cried as he was detained by the soldiers. "Please, Majesty! No! I beg of you! I plead for your loving and merciful forgiveness! I-"

"_Doth not speak to His Majesty, swine!_" rebuked one of the Ayleid guards, slapping Gravia over the scalp so hard that the child felt a ringing in his ears.

The other slaves did not even pay attention to the unfolding events. They only kept working to avoid punishment themselves. "Majesty!" Abalatta begged her master with her arms gently wrapped around Cancava's collar. "Please! Do not punish him!"

The Moth King did not acknowledge Aba's appeal for her friend's acquittal. "_Hast the sirrah dragg'd to mine cubiculos!_" he commanded."_I shall address him at dusk!_"

And a flailing Gravia was hauled out of the dining hall as the King of Sard continued through the compound's corridors with Abalatta still in his arms. "Majesty," Abalatta sobbed. "Why-"

"_Doth not speak with those Nedic beasts, mine child!_" the king interrupted. "_They art not worthy!_"


End file.
